


It Takes a Village

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Established Relationship, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Greg's birthday looms and Mycroft is not making a good showing on the birthday front, something that's bothering both him and Greg.  Fortunately, they're not short of ears to hear their various woes and sorrows...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for [LydSqd](http://lydsqd.tumblr.com/), who won it in the Rupert Graves Birthday charity auction. Their generosity never fails to thrill and humble me, and I know the auction's chosen charity, [Theirworld](http://theirworld.org/), was profoundly grateful for the donation. Thank you so much for your bid and your continued support of my scribbles!

      “Ok, what’s Mycroft done?”

      “Who said he’s done anything?” 

John tapped his pint and considered flicking a bit of foam at his ridiculous friend, but decided Greg probably didn’t need any more aggravation in his day.  In truth, he looked very much like a man with something on his mind and that something wasn’t good.

      “When you phone for drinks that you, personally, are funding, it’s _always_ about Mycroft.  You’re pining for him, he may have asked you out but you’re not certain, you _are_ certain he’s asked you out and you’re panicking…”

      ‘I didn’t panic!”

      “… _lots_ of panicking, you had an argument but he used big words and you didn’t have a dictionary in your pocket at the time so you have no fucking clue what the argument was about, he _may_ have asked you to move in with him and those pesky big words waded in to fuddle your brain again…”

      “Fine!  I… alright, apparently I have a sad, pathetic pattern and good on you seeing it before the Detective Inspector sitting in this chair, drinking my lager, happened to notice.”

      “Sherlock’s deductive skills are rubbing off on me.”

      “ _Sherlock’s_ rubbing off on you, you mean.  I do know the real message when you tell me you can’t meet me somewhere, including a crime scene, because you have ‘household things’ to tend to first.”

      “Oh… see!  You’re still worthy of the Detective Inspector title and now I know I need a new excuse when scorching sex is getting in the way of your crime scene needs.  But, back to the reason we’re here, drinking DI-funded pints, what’s wrong between you and your particular Mr. Holmes?”

Greg sighed and took a long sip of his beer, waving at the server to start another round going before answering.

      “He asked me what I wanted for my birthday.”

Of all the possible responses John had predicted, that hadn’t even made the bottom of the list.  However, it was a response he understood very well and for which he had a great deal of sympathy, having his own Mr. Holmes at home.

      “Lazy bastard.”

      “Exactly!  Just keep your bloody eyes open and use a little of that enormous brain you’re always going on about, you pompous prat.”

      “Is that what you told him?”

      “No… I just…”

      “Tell me you didn’t say you didn’t know or, worse, some mealy-mouthed rubbish about not wanting him to go to any trouble.”

      “I’m not mealy-mouthed!”

      “Proving that yes, you are, especially when you actually want him to go to a world of trouble, as is right and proper for a birthday.  Or, at least, going to _some_ trouble that shows attention is being paid and he honestly cares.”

      “It’s not too much to ask, is it?  And, it’s not as if I haven’t been dropping hints, pointing out things I see in magazines and on the telly… really, I’m trying to make it as easy as possible!  Heavens, Mycroft, my jacket looks like it’s been eaten by a bear!  Ooh, doesn’t that watch look amazing?  Mine’s still fogged up from that last light drizzle and is always fourteen minutes slow.  Over and over, all simple things that he could even have his PA pick up on her lunch hour if he didn’t want to descend onto the earthly plane and actually visit a shop.  Just needed to listen or pay attention one single time and he’d have an idea, not push in my face that he’s got no bloody clue what I might want for my birthday.”

      “Bastard.”

      “Him or me?”

      “Him, this time.  Usually, it’s you, though, so don’t feel he’s knocked you off the throne.”

      “Good, since I just got fitted from my crown.  I’ll wear it on my birthday and give Mycroft a rude gesture when he chides me for being aspirational.”

      “Has he offered up _any_ plans at all for the big day?”

      “Nope.  Again, asked what I wanted to do, but that one I’m not so angry about since I haven’t been pushing any ideas in his path and, in fairness, plans require… planning, which means working around our schedules and the like, which isn’t always easy to do.  I’d be satisfied with a nice dinner or film.  Anything grander and it’d be too much of a waste if either of us got a call in the middle and had to race back to work.  But a gift… that’s grinding my guts good and proper.”

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Keep on with throwing out hints, I suppose.  Or not.  He’s a genius, for pity’s sake!  Takes the tiniest of details, most nebulous of events and keeps the fucking world turning.  I can’t believe, not for a second, that he can’t think of a simple birthday gift for someone he lives with and shares a bed and breakfast table.”

      “If it’s any consolation, you _are_ getting a gift from Sherlock and me.  And, I have a mate from Bart’s who has tickets to every Arsenal match, that he gives away more than he uses, since he’s got a new baby and all babies wear the crown in the family, which is much shinier and impressive than your bastard one.  You and I have our names on two of them to give you a night out to celebrate being born and gracing the world with your arseholery. Check your schedule and let me know what date works for you.”

      “Now, that’s something that has my _very_ hearty approval.  Thanks, John.  That sounds perfect, actually.  I haven’t been to a match in ages, so this will be treat.  Really, that’s a wonderful idea.”

      “Great!  Glad to know _my_ birthday skills are still up to snuff.”

Leaning back in his chair, Greg drained the last of his beer and started on the fresh one that had just arrived at the table.  Mountains and molehills… birthdays were mountains, to his way of thinking.  Which was most people’s way of thinking, unless they were complete wankers.  Mycroft wasn’t a wanker, but he was portraying one for this particular bit of theater.  One special day of the entire fucking year that you could claim was all about you.  One day to be the center of attention, as selfish as you pleased because it was yours.  Though, now that he thought that, it sounded positively contemptable.  Or not!  Life was hard…

      “Greg?  Still with me?”

      “Yeah.  Just thinking.  Sorry about that.  Not the thinking part, I mean.  It’s… I’m being a sad, old moaner, aren’t I?”

      “Yes, but you’re allowed when a birthday’s involved.  Besides, that’s what nights at the pub are good for.”

      “Especially when the sad old moaner pays.”

      “Precisely.”

__________

      “And I want a cherry lolly, a pony and three severed heads.”

      “Hmmm?  Yes, of course.”

Sherlock snorted and waved his hands in front of Mycroft’s face, eventually startling his brother who finally focused on what was in the room and not in his mind.

      “Good heavens, Sherlock!  Are you being bedeviled by a bee?”

      “I am being bedeviled by you.  I arrive here, against my most ardent wishes, to discuss one of the boring and ridiculous matters with which you want me to dirty my hands and I find that, instead of a discussion of boring, ridiculous things, I am treated to your vacant stare.  Normally, I would find your silence a blissful thing, but since that has been accompanied by a pointed lack of cheque-writing, I am discontent and demand either my own private morgue, fully equipped and brimming with a diversity of interesting cadavers or a quick end to this so I might return to my experiment with crustacean shells and goat’s milk.”

      “What are you… no, I have no wish to know.  Yes, the Barnstable issue.  If you would peruse this folder…”

      “No.”

      “Why not?”

      “First, I read it while you were contemplating your navel… which is a ghastly thought and I wish I could now erase it from my mind.  Second, Andrew Barnstable is an odious blackguard and I have no interest whatsoever in seeing his reputation saved from this latest scandal.”

      “First, my navel is not the subject of my contemplations and, second, I am hopeful that you can produce irrefutable evidence, independent of any discernable connection to government, _of_ his complicity in the scandal.  Also, feel free to uncover a crippling, copious quantity of corruption that will remove him from his position and ensure he never holds another that might bring him into contact with the livelihood of the general public.”

      “Oh.  Then I will have something for you by week’s end, at the latest.”

      “Excellent.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “No.”

      “Dear heavens, what now is the reason?  I am granting you the freedom you greatly desire and I promise a cheque _will_ be forthcoming for your efforts.”

      “What is wrong with you?”

Mycroft blinked sharply because there was no hint of Sherlock’s typical childishness in the question.

      “I wager you have a plethora of answers to that question, Sherlock, so kindly choose one of your favorites and allow it to stand as my response.”

      “Pfft.  Your mind is addled.”

      “Is it?  I would argue against that particular assertion given…”

Sherlock reached into his pockets and drew out Mycroft’s chequebook, wallet, pocket watch, pocket square, tie pin and the bulb from the lamp on his desk.

      “Oh.  Yes…”

      “Confess.”

      “It… it is nothing, brother dear, so kindly return to me my belongings and you may have twenty pounds from my wallet to fund your lunch.”

      “I have already confiscated all the money your wallet, so your offer is meaningless.  Why are you mentally useless today?”

      “Truly, Sherlock, it is nothing that would interest you.”

Staring hard at his brother, Sherlock confirmed his suspicion, one that had risen in his mind when he first saw his brother wistfully staring at the small desk toy that Lestrade had donated from his own desk collection so his lover had something to remember him by since Mycroft’s ludicrous obsession with security had vetoed the standard tastefully-framed photo.

      “What has Lestrade done?”

      “Wh… why would you insinuate that Gregory is the root of my vexation?”

      “Lestrade is the only factor I have ever known to send you into the land of the eternal blank stare, and I include that Mummy and the PM to whom you anonymously sent forty sacks of horse manure and a spoon.”

      “Ah… there is that, I suppose… It is simply that I asked Gregory what he might like for his birthday gift and he seemed most upset by the question.”

      “Why?  It is a perfectly valid one.”

      “That was my thinking precisely, yet he seemed… almost insulted by my words.”

      “That makes no sense.  He would want a gift that was useful or desired and how are you to know that without asking?”

      “Exactly!  I would gladly gift him with anything in the world, but only if I know it is something he would truly want.  To imagine, even for a moment, his disappointment with an inappropriate, unwanted token… 

      “If he refuses to give you a choice, then simply purchase something he clearly needs, like a comb or a sharper razor.”

      “Gregory’s grooming is more than acceptable, Sherlock, so kindly curb your hysteria.  Ultimately, however, something along those lines may be my only recourse, though, I would hope for more than something simply functional and, ultimately… dreary.  I love him with all my heart and a measure of the reason for that is he provides me with a wealth of surprises each day we are together.  He offers perspectives, views and ideas that contrast with mine and it is like a breath of the freshest air to simply sit at table each morning and night, when we are able, and… talk.  However, that wonderful experience goes hand-in-hand with a measure of… unpredictability.  Whereas I can foresee many of his actions and responses, the percentage dwindles as I enter the more esoteric areas based in emotion, hopes, dreams, likes and dislikes.”

      “Meaning you can purchase a toothbrush, but not something… fun.”

That both men grimaced at the f-word undercut every occasion each had tried to deny any form of genetic relationship to the other person currently in the room.

      “That is a concise summary of my predicament, yes.”

      “Then Lestrade is doubly at fault here, for he knows that you have neither imagination nor any sense of whimsy or amusement.  If he did not clearly provide you with the data needed to properly make a suitable purchase, then he cannot take insult from your actions to acquire the data through direct questioning.”

      “Yet, he has.”

      “Pfft.  Basic failures of logic on his part are not your concern.  If I was responsible for every of John’s instances of overtly incorrect thinking, my spine would long ago have snapped from the weight of my obligation.”

Setting aside the rather unique fact that Sherlock was taking _his_ side on this issue, Mycroft pondered again the events of the morning and could find no flaw in his actions.  He had been eager, showed interest, asked specifically for the gift and celebration that his lover would find most enjoyable… what more could he do?  He did not even have to be reminded of the upcoming event, which was something that had plagued various of his colleagues over the years!  Could he have missed something?  Something obvious, in Gregory’s eyes, but wholly out of sight to his?  None of the many analyses he had performed today divulged that elusive ‘something’ and his mental analyses were the most formidable in… well, _the_ most formidable was accurate, so that would do.

      “Perhaps, however, domestic harmony is not solely based on logic, as you well know.”

      “True, unfortunately.  I would suggest making the source of his insult the topic of the next question you pose.  Apparently, you are required to play some form of guessing game to gain birthday approval.”

      “Is that what you must do to placate John?”

      “No.  I give John cash and that seems to satisfy his need for a gift.  That and food, followed by sex, is sufficient to fulfill my birthday requirements towards him.”

      “Hmmmm… somehow, I suspect Gregory would not be content with an envelope filled with banknotes.”

      “Perhaps if it is a colorful envelope.  Color and pageantry does seem to factor into the gift-giving ritual.”

      “I shall keep that in mind.”

      “Good.  Have I now absolved myself of any familial obligations to you for the next decade?”

      “Yes, your patience and attention to my plight has been most familial and I shall make due note on my calendar.”

Sherlock’s expected flight from his office, after the unceremonious toss of Mycroft’s possessions onto the desk, signaled the next round of mental analyses on the part of the highly-troubled man in the very plush chair behind said desk.  Gregory would not appreciate money, colorful envelope or not, and that left him with the same paucity of options as before Sherlock’s arrival.  The practical, functional gift was looming and he had no confidence that would be met with more enthusiasm than the addition of funds to his dearest’s accounts.  Preventing a war was not this difficult!  And the price for failure was not as dire, either…

__________

      “Hello, love.  You’re home late tonight.”

      “Yes, unfortunately.  A few matters arose late in the afternoon that were most stubborn about being resolved.”

      “But, you kicked the resolve right into them, didn’t you?”

      “That I did.  And you, my dear.  Did you enjoy your interlude with John?”

      “Oh, most certainly.  We killed many pints in the name of interluding.  Though…”

Should he?  Might as keep on and hope for the best…

      “… I was almost late.  Stupid watch isn’t keeping good time and I was lucky I checked my phone for something and saw the real time so I didn’t disgrace myself by being late to something that I planned and set in motion.”

Hinty hint hint, Mycroft.  Watch it wiggle and jiggle just for you…

      “Yes, that would have been most unfortunate, though I doubt John would have been too distressed by situation.”

How hard do I have to wiggle and jiggle!  My fucking skin is going to fall off my bones!

      “Probably not, but it’d be impolite, nonetheless.  Hate to be impolite, especially for a stupid reason like my watch is turning traitor on me.”

      “Hmmm… Gregory, would you like me to purchase for you a new watch for your birthday?”

Yes!  But, now that you’ve gone and told me, NO!

      “That’s… that’s a nice offer, love, but I’ll simply stop in somewhere and find something cheap to replace the cheap thing I already have.”

-Which I rather wanted to see upgraded to something _not_ cheap and uninspired but pfffffffffttttttt!

-Damnation!  I thought that an excellent idea!  Once again, I am bereft.

      “Ah, well, if you have a ready strategy, then I, of course, shall not divert it.”

Pfffffffffffffffttttttttttt!  In fact, take that and a mental rude gesture as a bonus, you bastard.  At this pace, you’ll be doing Sherlock’s lazy trick of giving money, which only works because John _likes_ money and is somewhat terrified of what Sherlock would concoct if his imagination was let to run wild with gift giving.  I’m not terrified of your imagination, Mycroft Holmes, so strap on the shoes and start it galloping!

      “Alright, then.  Want a film tonight or do you have work to do?”

      “Actually, my evening is free, so I would adore a film and, perhaps, something soothing to drink.”

      “One good film and one good scotch.  Want to add a good man to that list?”

      “Do you know one?”

Mycroft’s impish smile lasted as long as it took Greg’s flung sofa cushion to collide with his face.  How desperately he loved his Gregory and, flung cushion aside, he was content and confident in the love his Gregory had for him.  However, the Birthday Crisis was proving somewhat of a test and it was not one he took lightly.  It was oddly primal to want to prove one’s self to one’s lover, but part of his current distress was that he _wanted_ to prove himself to his lover and was failing.  Perhaps another source of information was required.  Fortunately, one was available as early as tomorrow…


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh god…”

      “If invoking your deity gladdens your day, do feel free to include some form of song to bolster your petition.”

Given life with Sherlock had produced certain situations that made John think twice about who might be behind abducting him off a busy London street, the most obvious choice remained the most obvious choice.  And the most obvious choice was smiling smugly at him in a very punchable way at the moment.  And, why did it always have to be creepy warehouses?

      “Why do you continue to kidnap me, Mycroft?  Really, I cannot fathom how, in a million years, this can be your idea of fun.”

      “I do admit that it provides a bit of amusement to brighten my day, but that is not the sole purpose of the act.  I… I find myself in a rather unfortunate position, John, and hoped you might offer insight on the matter.”

      “Since I have no expertise on most of the things you likely muck about with during the day, I assume this is about Sherlock.”

      “You would assume wrong.”

That, at least, made for something of a surprise.  Not necessarily a good one, but it did liven things up a bit.

      “I… the only other person… ooh, this is about Greg, isn’t it?”

Tapping your umbrella on the toe of your shoe says yes, but toes _can_ lie…

      “Quite.  There is a situation that is developing and not in a direction to my liking.  I hoped, give you and he have become what one might term friends, that you may have a useful perspective to offer me.”

      “Oh, well, if I can be of help, I certainly will.  Unless it’s about sex, though.  Really, that is one area you can keep very much to yourself.”

      “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

      “Yes.  Sort of.  Anyway, what’s wrong, Mycroft?  I _will_ help if I can.”

Seeing no deceit in John’s features, Mycroft relaxed slightly and leapt into the fray.

      “As you may be aware, Gregory’s birthday is approaching and… I am utterly at a loss as to how to see it appropriately celebrated.”

John hoped his shock was not screaming as loudly on his face as it was in his head because… the birthday conundrum!  At least, to be fair, it appeared Mycroft was taking this more seriously than Greg seemed to believe and not being a complete berk about the whole thing.

      “Oh, why’s that?”

      “I am unused to such a thing, I suppose, given the person in my life who normally would be the recipient of my attention would be Sherlock and he is profoundly allergic to _any_ attention I bestow beyond the transfer of cash or goods equivalent.  And Gregory… I will gladly accept full responsibility for this dilemma, however, in fairness, he has not made my task any easier.”

Oooh, now we get to the lazy bastard bit…

      “I understand what you mean about Sherlock and…”

And I’m now realizing how sad it is that you don’t have any friends or close relatives that warrant a birthday gift or evening out.

      “… and I do have sympathy for that part.  He does care, Mycroft, about you, I mean, but I agree that he’s allergic to showing it.  I actually think it would make him break out in hives.  However… you realize it’s not Greg’s job to make his birthday gift and celebration an easy thing, right?”

      “Pardon?”

Oh no.

      “He’s not really supposed to have much of a role in that.”

      “Why not?  The gift and activities are specifically to make him happy!  They are purely for his delight and pleasure… how am I to know what would guarantee that if he is not forthcoming with suggestions!”

Double oh no.  Mycroft Holmes is the smartest man imaginable and a complete dolt at the same time.  Well, there’s clear proof Sherlock’s not adopted… two peas in a very strange genetic pod…

      “Maybe… observe?”

      “Observe what?”

      “What he says and does.  I suspect that Greg isn’t shy about announcing what he likes or wants.  Probably does it all the time.”

And I know that straight from the horse’s mouth, so don’t even try and say it’s not true.

      “I… no, I have not noticed that.”

Liar!  Or not.  You really _are_ clueless, aren’t you, you sad bastard.

      “Then, I’d say you’re not paying attention.  Greg and I talk a lot and it wasn’t hard for me to decide that I’d get tickets for a match so he and I could have a night out he’d enjoy, and a new strap for his ridiculous guitar.”

      “How… yes, I do know of Gregory’s small obsession with football, and I will admit that the idea of purchasing tickets did not occur to me, but how did you know to purchase for him a guitar strap?  I cannot think of an instance where that has been the topic of any of our conversations.”

      “We were at a crime scene, oddly, and there was a music shop next door.  They had a display in the window and Greg spent a lot of time looking at it, then took a moment to step in.  Sherlock was busy sniffing the corpse or something, so I went with him and I noticed that he spent a little extra time looking at new straps and he even checked the price of a few and one, in particular, seemed to disappoint him, as if he liked it and hoped it was cheap, which it wasn’t.  So, I popped in the next day and bought it for his birthday.  And it was a few days later that he had me over for a film when you’d darted off to Geneva for whatever it is you do to earn a wage and I snuck a look at his current strap, which is as old and frayed as Greg himself, so the gift should be a success.”

      “And you did not ask beforehand if it was something he wanted?”

      “NO!  Why on Earth would I do that?”

      “To ensure it was something he truly desired!”

      “I think fondling the bloody thing was a good indication of desire.”

      “Oh… yes, I see.”

      “Besides, asking him would ruin the surprise and that’s a big part of the fun.”

      “So, asking Gregory if he wanted a new watch for his gift, after he spoke of his current one being problematic, was a mistake.”

      “It wasn’t a smart thing to do, that’s for certain.  He probably said no, too, didn’t he?”

      “He did.”

      “Yeah, that’s expected.  Next time, take the hint and don’t say anything.  Just buy the fucking watch.”

The fact that Mycroft was still agitated actually, to John’s way of thinking, was a good thing since it meant the elder Holmes was taking this seriously and not letting go until he had all the answers and information he needed.  But, did he have to be quite so dense about it?

      “But… there are legions of watches!  How to know which to purchase?  A watch is a highly personal item and one most are very particular about.”

Density intensifies!  But, maybe not.  There was a point in there, but since it emphasized Mycroft’s not grabbing the right end of the stick for any of Greg’s hints, only a perfunctory number of points would be added to the successful side of his ledger.

      “Fair and I do admit that I wouldn’t skip off and buy a watch if all Greg had said was he wanted one.  Has he been browsing any catalogs or taking a longer look than usual at any ads?”

      “Hmmm… now that you make mention of it, he has drawn me into a discussion of a few examples that he saw advertised.  I thought it, though, simply a general discussion of their various merits as timepieces.”

      “He was showing you the watches he’d be thrilled to find in a nicely wrapped box on this birthday.”

      “Oh dear…”

      “Worst-case scenario is you know he wants something like a watch and you do a bit of sneaky asking to get more information so, when you buy one, you’ve got some confidence it will be one he likes.  Be manipulative, you’re good at that.”

      “True.  But what if he does not provide specific hints?  It was sheer luck you had accompanied him to the shop where he found his strap.”

      “I know enough about him to know what he likes.  I _had_ been considering books, stopping by a shop to see if any of the authors he likes has out anything new or if there was one of those fancy sets they put together so you get all the books of a series at once.  He reads a lot of older authors, too, and that could have been another idea.  Something coffee related, perhaps, since he’s addicted to the stuff.  Some foolish toy for his desk, since he annoys Sherlock mightily when he plays with them rather than listen to Sherlock go on and on about the shape of dust particles or whatever else means the butler did it.”

      “Your description makes the issue sound such a simple one.”

      “Mycroft, you live with the man.  It _should_ be a simple one.  That’s… it’s…”

      “Yes?”

      “It’s part of the importance, you see.  When someone’s your friend or, more critically, your lover, you want to think they pay attention to you.  That you’re important enough to them for them to notice you.  To want to learn about you and keep an eye out for things they can do they know you’d like.  If that doesn’t happen… well, it doesn’t send very good signals.”

Mycroft’s sigh was loud and long and John, again, had some sympathy to bestow.  He’d watched Sherlock struggle with similar things but honestly thought Mycroft had a better grip on basic interpersonal relations than his younger brother.  Apparently, the older Holmes just hid his cluelessness better.

      “I had no wish to insult Gregory or make him, in any fashion, feel he was beneath my notice for that is certainly not the case.  He is… he is the sun in the sky to me.  My hope is a powerful one that I can provide him with a birthday that is joyful and worthy of the man he is.”

      “I can’t imagine it’s beyond you, Mycroft.  You’re good at that sort of thing, aren’t you?  Noticing details and patterns.”

      “Normally, yes.  However, I have… there is no emotional or personal investment in work matters.  Challenges are presented and addressed, but those challenges are sterile, technical things.  This is something entirely different…”

Showing, again, he and Sherlock fell from the same genetic tree.  On one level, they saw people as just another object in the world to study and use, as necessary.  On another level, they had an enormous capacity to care, but were poorly equipped to show it.  Sometimes it takes a village…

      “Well, now that you know more what to look for, think that will make a difference?”

      “Yes… yes, I do.  I am somewhat embarrassed that such a simple set of strategies was unclear to me, but now that I have a framework from which to work, I believe I can take effective steps forward.”

      “Good.  Greg will appreciate it.  He _is_ happy with you, Mycroft, and, being Greg, I have no doubt he makes his own share of mistakes and does things that drive you to drink, so… don’t be too hard on yourself.  He’ll be thrilled just to see you’re trying.  It’s all we can ask of anyone, really.”

No, John, much more can be asked.  Trying is one thing, succeeding is another thing altogether, but… point taken.

      “Then try I shall.”

      “Great!  Can I go home now?”

      “You were en route to purchase socks when you were intercepted.”

      “That’s because your arse of a brother boiled all of mine in vegetable oil!”

      “Your sexual preferences are none of my concern.”

John sniffed menacingly, then turned to what he hoped was the door of this new bleak warehouse and began marching towards it.

      “John?”

      “What?”

      “Thank you.”

      “I… you’re welcome.”

      “And the door is that way.”

John paid no attention to Mycroft’s pointing finger as he changed direction and began marching in, coincidentally, the direction of the point to the car he hoped would be waiting outside for him.  On his part, Mycroft waited until John had fully departed before taking a deep breath and moving towards a second door and somewhat plusher car, to take him back to his office.

By all measures, that had been a highly productive meeting.  He needed data and data was acquired.  He required insider information and that information had been gathered.  He learned he _did_ have skills and tools, exceptional ones, but now must apply them in a different fashion than was the norm.  Fortunately, that was also something at which he had skill, though it had previously eluded him for this one instance.

 However, that elusiveness was at an end.  There was nothing Mycroft Holmes could not do when his mind was fully turned towards the task and that was absolutely the case here.  His Gregory would receive a thoughtful gift that proved, beyond any shadow of a doubt, how greatly this shriveled heart loved and adored him and, further, some small celebratory occasion to properly treat the man as royally as he deserved.  Perhaps in the grand scheme of life, a bungled birthday was laughably minor, but… if he could not manage the minor things, how could he hope to manage the major things that formed the fundamental core of their love and life together?  No, he would not fail in this… though, he would keep John’s mobile number most handy for emergency purposes…


	3. Chapter 3

      “There you are.”

Lestrade looked around, hoping the quickly advancing dark specter was speaking to someone else, but was disappointed to find he was the hellfiend’s target.

      “Imagine that, Sherlock.  The crime scene I’m in charge of finds me actually present and accounted for.”

      “Pfft.  Your lack of humor is matched only by your lack of hygiene.”

Greg sniffed under his arm and nodded slightly.

      “I’ll admit I’m not at my freshest right now, but spending a few hours near the bins behind a restaurant, on a warm day, doesn’t keep you smelling like a mountain breeze.  Why are you here though, lad?  This poor obviously-dead person died a poor, obvious death and that’s not what gets you out of bed in the morn… afternoon.”

      “Script a list of gifts you would accept for your birthday and give it to Mycroft.”

Greg was happy he’d finished this round of coffee because he would greatly have mourned the liquidy loss when his cup slipped from his fingers and hit the ground.

      “What?”

      “Mycroft’s piteous moaning is agonizing when it centers on boring topics such as economic stability or world peace, but when it concerns you or anything related to you, my stomach feels as if I have swallowed a box of razor blades and followed it with a few pints of sriracha sauce.”

      “Mycroft’s been moaning about me?”

      “Yes, and you must take steps to bring that to an end, for I have no wish to see my life ended by my stomach bleeding its contents into my abdominal cavity and digesting me from the inside out.”

      “I… I’m not entirely certain what you’re on about, Sherlock, but I can assure you…”

      “You are purposefully obstructing Mycroft’s attempts to provide you a birthday that meets with your approval and his besotted dithering is revolting to behold.”

      “I’m not obstructing anything!  I’ve dropped so many hints I should be brought in for littering!”

Sherlock’s snort was powerful enough to ruffle Lestrade’s hair, but the DI refused to satisfy his small measure of vanity by smoothing his locks back into place.

      “And you stupidly believed that Mycroft would recognize them.”

      “What’s stupid about that!”

      “You may as well have asked him to notice what is the current fashion trend amongst schoolchildren.”

      “He doesn’t live with those little buggers, Sherlock, he lives with _me_.  When I’m shoving something into his face and he stares through it as if it’s transparent, I have to wonder, you know.”

      “Wonder?  Wonder about what?”

      “About whether or not he really pays attention!”

Which sounds unappealingly needy, now that it’s said aloud.

      “Oh, so you are punishing him for your neediness.”

      “I… no!...”

At least, not so you or anyone else might hear and laugh about.

      “… It’s a birthday, Sherlock!  Beyond that, though… who doesn’t want the person in their life to notice them more than a chair or sideboard?”

      “Chairs and sideboards are simple objects with defined function and rules.  People are not.”

      “Bollocks!  Mycroft deals with people every day, loads of people from every possible… peopleness… there is.  And he’s got to deal with quirks, subtleties, deceits… everything that takes a lot of notice to key in on and use to your advantage.  He can’t do that for me?  That’s shit, that is, and anyone would feel the same.”

      “Although it pains me to admit it, _I_ am through the most general definition, included in ‘everyone’ and I do not support your ill-informed assertion.”

      “How… how can that be ill-informed?”

      “Because _you_ have failed to notice.”

      “I have!  I’ve noticed that computer brain of his can’t take being pummeled with hints and come to any meaningful conclusions!  And don’t get me started on the fact that his computer brain shouldn’t even need hints to know what I’d want for a gift.  I was being charitable tossing them out in the first place!”

      “And my point is proven.”

      “What point, you miserable bastard?”

      “That you _fail_ to notice.”

      “What?  What what what what what!”

      “THAT _YOU_ ARE NOT EVERYONE TO MYCROFT!”

Lestrade stepped back from the force of Sherlock’s bellow and was glad the local PC’s weren’t nearby or Sherlock might be facing down a wall of serious expressions and shiny handcuffs.

      “I… what do you mean?”

      “My god, but you are dense.  Yes, Mycroft is uselessly talented at analyzing and, further, manipulating people with extreme levels of both accuracy and precision, however, you fall outside the category of the human population.”

      “Is that good or bad?”

      “I suppose it depends upon whether you realize this makes analysis and perception of you and matters relating to you inordinately difficult for him.  You stand apart from the rest and his dynamic with you is vastly different than any he has previously experienced.  If you believe, for an instant, that he could do to you what he can countless others, then you either have a, in my opinion, _deservedly_ poor view of yourself and your relationship with him, or have completely failed to notice how he is entirely and nauseatingly different in his behaviors with you than with anyone else.”

Greg opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again as Sherlock’s words sunk into his mind.  Not that he wanted them to, because it took a lot of the wind out of the sails of his snit, but… they were doing a fine job of it whether he wanted them to or not.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to cling on a little longer for pride’s sake, petty and childish as that was.

      “You’re saying I shouldn’t expect him to do what simple, normal people can do for the people in their lives?”

      “The number of problems with that statement is scientifically uncountable.”

      “Look here, Sherlock…”

      “First, Mycroft is not normal people and you are staggeringly aware of that fact.”

      “Ok, true, but…”

      “And, since I am forced by proximity to hear the tedious dronings of the other monkeys in your troop, I know very well that the giving and receiving of gifts is by no means something done with any degree of success by many of the other monkeys in London.”

      “Well, fine, I admit that some people have a spot of trouble choosing the proper gift for…”

      “For Christmas, John gave me an affront to nature.”

      “Oh, come on!  It was a joke!”

      “It was a mug emblazoned with my picture wearing… that hat.”

      “I thought it was hilarious.”

      “You are not the one who is forced to drink out of it so that John’s feelings are not hurt, which they _were_ when I did not drink out of it until February and that was only because all other mugs, cups and glasses were currently being used for my experiment with the influence of dietary intake on the components of saliva.”

      “Alright, never drinking anything at your flat ever again.  But, John just thought it would be a lark, Sherlock.  Something fun you’d both laugh about now and again.  And he did give you a new scarf, too, which you do wear a lot and seem to adore.”

      “That is true.  It does not, however, negate the fact that he incorrectly believed I would find the _mug_ amusing and, further, took offence when I did not.  He is fortunate his other attributes compensate for his deplorable gift-giving.”

Greg, again, opened then closed his mouth because Sherlock had a point.  He would have found a mug like that funny and proudly drank from it, at least at home, but Sherlock… ok, maybe it was a bit daft to believe that was something that would give Sherlock a laugh.  Sherlock wasn’t an ordinary bloke like him and John and… neither was Mycroft.  They were the least normal people he knew, actually, so if a normal bloke would have trouble buying a good gift for a not-normal one, it was to be expected that it would go the other way, as well, wasn’t it?  If he was ready to let go of his snit, then yes, yes it was.

      “John wasn’t so good at reading your signals and I shouldn’t expect Mycroft to be so good at reading mine, is that what you’re saying?”

      “If this was not important to Mycroft, he would simply purchase for you something boring and functional such as a tie or jacket…”

      “I want a jacket!”

      “Would you want one Mycroft picked without clear guidelines as to what you would prefer?”

Reminding himself of the various facial expressions Mycroft made when he came home with a new shirt for work or package of socks, it was even odds or better that Mycroft would try and ‘upgrade’ things and believe he was doing something helpful because of it.

      “It’d be horribly expensive and completely not me, wouldn’t it?”

      “Most likely.  However, he _does_ care and that is compounding his dilemma for he is highly aware that his instincts for a gift will surely not align well with your hopes for the gift you would receive.  Further… he does not _trust_ his instincts, with respect to you and that is certainly a valid worry.  What you feel is exceedingly obvious and evident may not be to him and Mycroft’s closer connection to a chocolate sponge than a human does not predispose him to make note of the more ‘human’ aspects of the species, such as the inane and pointless necessity of celebrating being pushed into the world through a vagina.”

Sighing loudly, Greg gave the inside of his skull a few mental kicks and took the pain as his due.  Mycroft was the most incredible man in the world, but he, like Sherlock, wasn’t _of_ this world sometimes.  He was unique, different and that was a good thing.  A _very_ good thing, actually, but that did mean grading him on the normal curve was probably a touch unfair.  Credit where it was due, his lover did step up when there was a specific request or guideline to follow, such as don’t tidy up my fucking book pile, you bastard, I have everything exactly where I want them because it’s my personal strange ritual to pile up reading possibilities next to the sofa and… ok, maybe _that’s_ weird and strange and a ‘normal’ person would actually have done what Mycroft did and _he_ was the odd duck for this example, but it proved the point anyway.  Didn’t it?  Maybe not, or maybe yes, but his brain was too fuddled to care at the moment.

      “Yeah, I understand.  Not the vagina bit, because I have no idea what is wrong with your brain for thinking that, but about Mycroft… maybe I’ve been a little unfair about the whole business.”

      “You have.”

      “Thanks for that.”

      “You are welcome.  Now, take what steps you must to settle this issue, so I do not have to waste further time with it.”

      “Of course, your highness.  Anything else?  Shine your scepter?”

      “Is that a sexual innuendo?”

      “No, though it would have been in another context, so you’re doing better catching onto things like that.  Well done.”

Sherlock’s proud smile made Greg laugh, but also reinforced that the Holmes brothers were cut from a very different cloth than the rest of the poor mortals on the planet.  Sherlock missed lots of tiny social cues and, though Mycroft might be better at that than Sherlock, it that was no reason to believe he was better at _all_ the silly social things the aforementioned poor mortals thought highly critical for day to day life.  Ok… message received and understood.

      “And thanks, Sherlock.  I think I have a better understanding of things now.”

      “Of course you do, since I explained it.”

      “Something I shall very much keep in mind for the future.  Now, since you’re here, you want to have a look at our dead friend here?”

      “Why?  It is painfully obvious how he died.”

      “Well, yeah, he was stabbed, but…”

      “Wrong.”

      “What?”

      “Wrong.”

      “Behold!  The knife sticking out of the poor bugger’s chest.”

      “You see but you do not observe.”

      “Gonna trademark that pithy phrase?”

      “Hmmm… given I could then keep Mycroft’s legion of solicitors running wildly across the globe delivering lawsuit notices, as opposed to delivering letters to me about things which I could not, in a millennium, care less about… I shall give this serious thought.”

      “Don’t tell Mycroft it was my idea.  He’d murder me for sending his legal legion swarming for your nuisance lawsuits.”

      “What is my silence worth to you?”

      “Uh… one carton of that ultra-spicy takeaway John won’t allow in the house because it gives you lethal gas, even though it’s one of the few things you’ll actually eat a full carton of.”

      “Two cartons.”

      “Two?”

      “I… I like it.”

      “Two cartons it is!  The other carton can be payment for telling me what you think I missed about the victim.”

      “’Two cartons is for protecting you from Mycroft’s wrath.  Saving your job requires something far more… generous.”

      “Fine!  One, and only one, of the cold case files I said you can’t have because it’s a highly-sensitive issue and you barging about would likely see you with your own lawsuit or deported.”

      “It is a sparse offering, but acceptable.”

      “There we have it then.  You phone John and let him know he’s on his own for food tonight and then we’ll get started.”

      “Do you not have your own phone call to make?”

      “Nah, I’ve got ideas for this and a phone isn’t the way to go.”

      “Very well.  I will expect a progress report, however, and pray that it is a laudable one.”

      “Funny man.”

      “Yes, I agree.”

___________

      “Ah, my dear, I was beginning to wonder if you had scampered off to begin a new life in the colonies.”

      “I considered it a few times, but decided that might lose me my pension and I would like to actually retire one day and not be one of those poor old gents who’s holding himself up with two canes, hearing aids in each ear, manning the till at some shop to make ends meet.”

      “I shall ensure it is a shop with a low volume of customers, so you are not overtaxed while earning your wage.”

      “You’re too good to me.  Truthfully, Sherlock popped by my crime scene and sent us in a direction I hadn’t predicted and that ran me longer than I had expected for today.  I had to pay him in very cheap takeaway, though, so it was actually one of the less expensive bits of assistance he’s given me in awhile.

      “Excellent.  And, for my own moment of truth, I only arrived here half an hour ago, for my own day was a long and tedious one.”

      “Did you eat?”

      “Anthea browbeat me into having a meal, as she is wont to do when she worries my mood will sour and prompt the mobilization of the military towards forcibly overtaking whatever government is the source of my extended hours, which will cause, for her, veritable mountains of paperwork.”

      “Smart woman.”

Mycroft patted the sofa next to him and made note of all aspects of Greg’s appearance, including the small face he made at his jacket as he tossed it across the back of a chair and the rapidity with which he toed off his shoes when he finally sat down.

      “Are your feet fatigued, my dear?”

      “Always.  No, that’s not true, but long days on my feet… it’s hard to get shoes that can withstand the wear and tear of the job, but keep my toes and arches happy at the same time.”

      “I admit it is not such a concern for me, however, I do have difficulty finding precisely the shoes that will give my rather long feet and toes their proper respect.”

      “Ooh, I remember when you had new ones made.  How many times did you send them back to the shoemaker?”

      “Four.  However, the final time was because the laces were entirely too… shiny… for my taste.”

      “Nobody wants glistening laces, that’s for certain.”

      “Or a glistening watch.  Terribly garish.”

      “You mean one of those with the blinding metal band, blinding metal case and, worse, sparklies all over because the bloke just didn’t feel reflecting three-quarters of the sun’s rays just was good enough for someone as important as him?  Garish is too kind a word for it.”

      “Clothing?”

      “It’s not the seventies anymore.  Or the eighties, for that matter.  Don’t want to see myself in someone’s shirt collar.”

      “Or jacket.”

      “Ugh… even a good, solid leather, with a proper polish, should be tasteful.  Can’t abide those berks who prance about with a leather coat or jacket that’s so gleamy it looks like plastic.”

      “It is most clear why we are well matched as cohabitants.”

      “Not a bit of garishicity between us.”

      “And we both appreciate a fine scotch.”

      “In proper glasses!  Good manly glasses that have a heft when you pick them up.  Saw a couple the other day in a magazine, though, that were brilliant.  Looked like something James Bond would use, even if they were fairly plain and simple.”

      “Which magazine?”

      “Ummm… this one.”

As Greg started to page through the magazine that he’d left on the top of his beloved book pile, Mycroft filed away all the information from their brief conversation, along with the information he’d sifted through in his memory and filed into neat little categories in his mind.  Yes, his tools and skills were honed to their sharpest edge and already doing their utmost to present to his Gregory a truly jubilant birthday.  The utter joy _he_ would feel knowing that he had made the man he adored happy and feel, tangibly, the love this dreary meddler harbored in his heart every day of his life, was his own reward and one he savored like fine wine.  Domestic harmony was a good thing, but rarely was the harmony as blissful as what he and his dearest shared… 

      “Here… these.”

      “Oh, very handsome.  It is the mark of a good design that the handsomeness of an object does not detract from its functionality.  And, I agree, they do seem as if they could be found in the hands of a suave and sophisticated spy.”

      “Speaking of, do you know if they have one of those big sets of all the James Bond films?”

      “For sale, do you mean?”

      “Yeah, I was thinking that for all the films we have in our collection, I don’t think we have that.  I know we’ve got streaming versions, but they don’t have the extra bits and pieces that discs usually tack on and that’s a lot of fun to watch sometimes.”

      “Hmmm… I am not certain, however, I shall make a point to find out.”

      “Could you?  I think that’s something I’d really like.  Or maybe some Poirot?  I admit that’s become one of my favorites, now that I’ve got someone to watch it with.”

      “Consider it done.  If any other such titles or genres spring to mind, do let me know, for you are well aware how greatly I enjoy a bracing bit of research.”

      “Thanks!  I imagine they _can_ be found, since that’s precisely the sort of thing the marketing people for film studios would think of for the holiday or gift market.  Come Christmas or a birthday, say, what a thing to find wrapped nicely for you than a massive collection of your favorite films?”

      “Ah, I see.  Yes, very well-reasoned.  Very well-reasoned, indeed.”

Greg smiled at Mycroft’s small grin and patted himself on the back for tossing out an extremely solid hint with clear ‘here’s a birthday gift idea!’ thrown in so strongly that his partner actually seemed to have recognized it.  Ok, so he was getting DVD’s for his birthday and that was… well, that was great, actually.  And, it didn’t really sting as he’d predicted to know the gift in advance.  When Christmas came close, he’d throw out _lots_ of hints and lay Mycroft’s mental hands right on them.  He wouldn’t know exactly what on the list he’d get and that would nicely bring some of the surprise back.

And, honestly, it felt very, very good to see Mycroft’s eyes light up when he snatched the idea out of the air.  This sad, old moaner would get something he wanted for his birthday and, also, the joy of seeing an excited Mycroft give it to him with the belief a grand surprise was being delivered.  Mix with a nice dinner and a cozy night afterwards watching one of those new films, and you had the recipe for a birthday that would be better than any he’d had in a long time.  Score a large point for domestic cooperation!  Even if one half of the domestic was none the wiser for it…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of the birthday escapades with the birthday itself. Once again, my sincere thanks to [Lydsqd](http://lydsqd.tumblr.com/) for bidding in the Rupert Graves Birthday Project auction. I am always amazed by their continued generosity and support of my stories and the great causes these auctions support!

Greg wasn’t at all ashamed about dancing the last few steps towards home because it was his birthday and it was bloody amazing so far _and_ slated to shoot through the roof now that the real fun could begin.  Not that fun hadn’t been had already, because that was certainly _not_ the case.  Breakfast in bed!  He couldn’t have been a pretty picture for the showered and groomed Mycroft to jostle awake, but that not-pretty picture received a large tray filled with his favorite breakfast foods and the most blistering cup of coffee that was legal under international regulations.  And Mycroft had woken him a few minutes before the normal alarm, so they could have a little longer to enjoy his nice breakfast before they both had to dart off for a day that each expected to end a touch earlier than normal so that the real birthday celebration could have extra time for… whatever was going to happen.

THEN, he’d found a new desk toy waiting for him when he stepped into his office.  One of those kinetic sculptures that mesmerized you while you watched it that his team decided was a better use of his time than mucking up reports that they had to step in and correct.  THEN, lunch had been delivered for himself and his team… his very favorite takeaway… because his lover was a wonderful man and had taken the large more-than-a-hint that a cake delivered to work was embarrassing but a hearty lunch was a pure source of joy for a hard-working man.

THEN, no new cases dropped in his lap, no emergencies had erupted that merited a mournful text from Mycroft, which meant tonight was theirs to enjoy.  Honestly, he couldn’t wait, even knowing what would be his present.  Mycroft had already made the day special, showed he cared and the days up to this one just lent support to that.  The silly man thought he didn’t know when he was fishing for ideas and hints for things to do tonight or another gift or two to add to the horde.  Mycroft was the most obvious fisher in the world, but it was so adorable to watch him try to be sneaky, all smug and satisfied when he thought his little tricks won him the information he wanted.  Really, all of that was better than opening a box and finding something unexpected.  He’d had a game going with his partner all week and that was a week of fun he treasured as a gift of its own.

      “My heavens, how the room lights brightly when you enter, my dear.”

      “Now that’s a silly thing to say.  But don’t let that stop you from saying it again in the future.”

Greg walked the last few steps into the sitting room to take his lover’s lips in a long kiss that perfectly expressed just how greatly he cherished the man in his arms and his silly sayings.

      “And your day, Gregory?  A pleasant one, I hope.”

      “It was!  Thank you very much for lunch.  It was perfect and the whole team had time to sit and fill their stomachs while we discussed the evidence for the Barnes case.”

      “Excellent.  I had hoped that you would find time to relax with your colleagues and share the happiness of your special day.”

      “Mission accomplished, I’d say.  And, with tomorrow off, I’m ready to share the happiness of my special day with a special man.  Who might, for the record, be you.”

      “I am overcome with joy.  Now, I thought we might begin our evening by allowing you to change into more comfortable clothing and enjoy a fine glass of scotch whilst taking some small time to unwind from the tensions of the day.  I made certain we had a full bottle of your very favorite so that any level of indulgence is well within our reach.”

      “Yes!  Indulgence shall go forth full steam, if I have my druthers.”

      “And those druthers shall guide my hand as I pour.  Your libation shall await your judgement.”

Greg darted away like a child who heard the call of the ice cream van and Mycroft smiled softly at how fully the man he loved embraced the pleasures the simple things in life provided.  And, it wasn’t five minutes before Greg was back to enjoy his simple pleasures, hurling himself on the sofa and putting his feet up on the sofa table, providing his own soundtrack with a large, contented sigh.

      “I realized I didn’t know what to wear for tonight, so I tossed on something to knock about the house in while we relax and I’ll change before we go out.”

      “Hmmm… no, I would say if you are comfortable, then you are properly garmented for our evening.”

Placing the glass in Greg’s hand, Mycroft merely gave a ‘is there a problem?’ look at Greg, who had given _him_ a ‘what’s that all about’ glare.

      “I’m in my torn denims, the most faded shirt in my closet and a decade-old grey jumper!”

      “All of which you adore and look highly roguish while wearing.”

      “I… really?”

      “Of course!  Much as a young miscreant hoping to cause some degree of turbulence in the lives of those who cross his path.”

      “Oh… I suddenly don’t feel so fashion disabled.”

      “I am happy to be of service.  Now, enjoy your scotch and tell me about your day so far.”

      “Well, I was a touch worried in the morning because…”

Greg swished the scotch around his mouth a moment then took another sip and tried to be a deductive genius to fathom out what was sending him a different signal than the norm, gasping loudly when he had his answer, which he began waving in Mycroft’s direction.

      “The glasses!  The ones I showed you!”

      “Really?  I wonder from where they came?  Perhaps the drinkware pixies visited while we were out.”

After making a very rude noise at his partner, Greg turned his full attention to the heavy crystal glasses in his hand, which fit his grip more perfectly than he could have imagined and looked so handsome that he actually felt proud to be hoisting one to the light to better see every single curve and angle.

      “They’re marvelous.  The photo didn’t do them justice.”

      “I agree.  There is a strong appeal to them that does make the drinking experience a more fulfilling one.”

Mycroft watched Greg continue to examine his prize, running his hands over the shape and swirling the scotch to watch the rich gold color play against the glass.

      “Thank you for this Mycroft.  I absolutely love these.”

      “The pixies shall be most gratified, I have no doubt.  I shall leave out a bowl of milk for them to show our appreciation.”

      “Arse.”

      “Is one of my finest features.”

      “That’s true.  I can’t even make a joke about it because your arse _is_ magnificent.”

      “And, later, you may examine the magnificence in more detail.”

      “Actually, I have no problem doing that now.”

      “Tut tut, Gregory, we have only started the evening’s festivities.”

How his tatty clothes fit into the evening’s festivities still baffled Greg, but his Mycroft was proving to be something of a surprise tonight, despite ALL expectations, so he’d just go with his lover’s mysterious flow.

      “Alright, then.  Birthday now, arse later.”

      “My thinking exactly.  Now, you were saying about your day?”

As Greg relaxed back on the sofa and restarted his story, Mycroft surreptitiously checked the time and mentally smiled that all was working to schedule.  A half-hour or so for them to relax together and shake off the trials of the day and then the next phase would commence.  Given the success so far, he had hopes the rest would please his lover just as greatly.  Anything less would not meet the Mycroft Holmes standard and that bode extremely ill for the perpetrator of the failure.  Which would be him…

__________

      “Shall we make our way towards dinner, my dear?”

Truthfully, Greg would have been fine staying on the sofa with his new glass of fine scotch and the animated tones of his partner as they discussed absolutely nothing of importance, but his lunch had digested and his stomach as starting loudly to notify him of that fact.

      “I think we shall.  Are you… I’m dressed alright for dinner?”

      “I believe so.  In any case, I highly doubt anyone shall complain.”

Which could mean Mycroft had rented an entire restaurant and they were the only guests or they were going somewhere Mycroft was very well known and nobody would dare comment on the attire of him or his guest.  The latter would normally give him pause, but… birthday! so fuck any complainers.

      “Then off we go!  Oh, did you put away my jacket?”

      “Hmmm?  Ah yes, force of habit, I’m afraid.”

Greg hopped off the sofa, carefully set down his glass and moved to the coat closet in the entranceway to retrieve his and Mycroft’s jackets, only to find himself thwarted.

      “Where’s my jacket?”

      “In its usual spot, I imagine.”

      “No, it’s not here.”

      “Let me see… yes, here.  Are your eyes bothering you, Gregory?”

Greg’s eyes widened at the decidedly not-shiny jacket that came off the hanger than normally housed his familiar jacket and those eyes watched closely as Mycroft turned the black jacket this way and that before humph-ing and handing it to his wide-eyed lover.

      “It is certainly not my size, so I suppose the pixies found your traditional one not to their liking.  It was equitable of them, however, to offer this in trade as it does seem to your taste.  Rather like…”

      “You fucker!  That’s the exact jacket from the bloke in the film we saw last month!  The one I said looked sexier than sex!”

      “Is it?  Dear me, the pixies have been busy, haven’t they?”

      “No… I looked for this jacket, Mycroft.  I actually did an online search and couldn’t find it.”

Because, my beloved, it was crafted by the film’s costume designer and wardrobe department to be an updated version of a much older style that they felt suited the character’s personality extremely well.  However, they were happy to provide the basic pattern to a willing tailor to reproduce for you, in exchange for a modest donation to a student program for aspiring workers in film trades and their own hearty lunch, complete with a very palatable champagne.  Lesson learned - When the mind is set to extracting specific memories of your wants and examples where you evinced interest in specimens _of_ those wants, gift ideas seem rather tragically obvious.

      “My my, I had no idea the pixies were that talented with garment acquisition.  And how fetching this will look with your grey jumper and scandalous trousers.  Even your shoes provide a suitable accompaniment to your ensemble.”

His Gregory’s battered trainers were nearly laughable specimens, but certainly added to the rough boy image his lover would present.  Which was a look his Gregory wore fantastically well.

      “I… ok.”

Laughing at Greg’s confusion and continued state of shock, Mycroft grabbed his own jacket and linked their arms to move towards dinner.  For that, he did have to reach out for a touch of help, but it was amazing how many were willing to share information about his Gregory when the cause was such a terribly good one…

__________

      “This isn’t a restaurant.”

      “Is it not?  Oh dear, I do hope I have not suffered some form of tragic delusion about the meal we shall soon share.”

      “It’s a park.”

      “Perhaps it is simply the venue is so large you cannot see the walls or ceiling.”

      “There’s trees!”

      “A ‘green’ establishment?”

      “Mycroft…”

      “I believe our table is this way, through that small copse of ecologically-themed trees.”

Greg’s suspicion made his narrowed eyes and pursed lips a thing of beauty, to Mycroft’s eyes and he escorted his lover along the small path to their destination, jerking to a stop before he reached it because _Greg_ jerked to a stop and stood a moment wildly sniffing the air.

      “No.”

      “Pardon?”

      “That… oh, that’s smells like… nah… you wouldn’t.”

      “Are you quite alright, my dear?  Come, let us get you seated and with a refreshing beverage to calm your humors.”

Mycroft nearly had to drag Greg the rest of the way forward, especially as they cleared the trees and his partner saw the tent which provided a canopy for one small table and, off to the side, the sizeable cooking station responsible for the smell in the air.

      “Fish and chips!  Oh god, my favorite and… no.  Ok, no, that’s not possible.”

Hiding behind his taller lover, Greg peeked over Mycroft’s shoulder at the small, old gentleman manning the fryer, earning Mycroft’s rolled eyes and highly amused exasperation.

      “Mr. Blake has been retired for some years, however, was most agreeable to coming here for the night to provide you a fresh, heart-destroying meal for your birthday.  Given the transport included a rather large container of used cooking oil, I suspect he brought everything from his shop, which his son currently runs, that was required to create you the meal you remembered from childhood.”

      “Meals I stole half the time because I was a little bastard with more lint in my pocket than cash!”

      “Let us hope that part has faded in his memory.”

      “Greg Lestrade!  You little bastard.  Still hiding out of my sight trying to steal a handful of chips!  Thievin’ boy… haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

      “Or perhaps not.  Come along, Gregory.”

This dragging was even more forceful to get Greg in his chair and a quick nod to their server brought his partner a pint of ale to further soothe his nerves.

      “There you are.  Have a sip and relax.”

      “How did you… how did you know?  Mr. Blake had the best fish and chips in the whole fucking world!  At least, that’s how it seemed as a lad and I can’t say I’ve found any that’s been better now that I’m older and grayer than he was when he was running the shop.”

      “To give credit where it is due, when your mother phoned to discuss her and your father’s visit next month, the conversation turned towards your birthday… you shall receive their gift when they visit as your father refuses to, in his words, ‘waste good money on postage when I can hand it to the boy in person’… and I asked if there was a particular favorite food of yours of which I might not be aware.  She had a highly amusing assortment of tales concerning you and the local restaurateurs from your youth.  This set of tales was, by far, the most entertaining.”

      “Mum revealed my shame.  Fucking wonderful.”

      “I thought so, yes.  However, it _did_ bring its own rewards, did it not?”

Greg cast his eyes over to where crispy pieces of fish were being lifted from the hot oil and sighed with a touch of nasal tone that sounded very much like the whine a tiny puppy might give when it saw it’s can of food being drawn down from the cupboard.

      “Drink your ale, Gregory and do try and relax.  I would hate for your lovely meal to meet with a previously-soured stomach.

      “I love those fish and chips.”

      “And now you shall have time to rekindle that love full force.  Oh, did I mention there are Cornettos for after?”

      “AAAAAHHHHH!!!”

      “Ale, my beloved.  It is most beneficial for ice-cream hysteria.”

__________

      “Oooooohhhhh…”

      “Is that a good moan or an ill one, Gregory?”

      “Goooooood.”

      “I am delighted.  And most surprised by the sheer quantity of material you can ingest when you give your best effort.”

      “I… I… fuck it, I can’t begin to express how amazing that was.  Exactly like when I was young, too.  All that’s missing is the grease stains on my trousers from wiping my hands on them.”

      “Your adherence to proper etiquette was most admirable.”

      “This is… honestly, this has been a fantastic birthday, love.  I… it’s beyond anything I could have predicted!”

      “You speak as if it is over.”

      “It’s not?”

      “The night is still young, true?”

      “I… I suppose it is.”

      “Very well.  Allow your indulgence to settle in your stomach and we shall soon be ready to take the next step in our agenda.”

      “We have an agenda?”

      “A small one, and this step, besides returning home where I shall do everything in my power to sexually satisfy you to a point you cannot remember your own name, shall be our final one, though it shall also be the longest.”

      “A film?”

      “We shall see, Mr. Fish Belly.”

      “Mr. Fish _and Chips_ Belly, if you please.”

      “I stand corrected.”

__________

      “It _is_ a film!”

      “What is a film?”

      “Bastard.  We are pulling up next to a small, tidy local cinema, so if you try and tell me there’s not a film in my immediate future, I am calling you a liar.”

      “There is not a film in your immediate future.”

      “Liar!”

      “Au contraire.  Kindly look more closely at what is on offer for tonight.”

Greg squinted to read the advertised feature, the only part of which was large enough for his squinty vision was that the feature was actually _features_.

      “What?  I… no.”

      “I have no idea how to respond to that.”

      “It’s a James Bond double bill!  _Goldfinger_ and _Dr. No_!  That’s two of my favorites!”

      “How felicitous!”

      “You did this, didn’t you?”

      “I certainly did not make your Bond films, Gregory.  I may be a touch long in the tooth, but certainly not as aged as that.”

      “Evil, evil man.  You had them run these films, didn’t you?”

      “It is small, independent cinema… it is to be expected they would offer something other than the norm.”

      “You you you you you.”

      “Is that a foreign title?  Odd that I have yet to hear of it.”

      “Funny.  But, I don’t care because I get to see… oh god, I’m going to see James Bond on a real cinema screen!  Ok, that’s stupid, because I _have_ seen Bond on the large screen, but not Sean Connery!  Yes!”

Leaping out of the car, Greg practically danced on the sidewalk waiting for Mycroft’s more sedate exit, which Mycroft made more sedate than usual just for the joy of watching Greg bounce up and down like an ecstatic toddler.

      “Oh, this is perfect.  Positively brilliant.  Two of my favorite films in a quaint cinema… be honest, did you buy out the theater just for you and me?”

      “The thought did cross my mind, however, I anticipated that the unusual nature of the screening might pique the interest of others besides ourselves.”

      “Good.  This is the sort of thing you want to share with people around you.  I hope they don’t mind if I’m a bit loud in a few parts… I get a little excited sometimes.”

      “That you do.  Shall we?”

Greg’s happy bouncing started again and Mycroft took the initiative to gently push him forward through the doors.

      “Look!  They serve beer!”

      “And wine, too, it appears.  That is a decidedly useful discovery.”

      “I don’t care I’ve already had a bit to drink today, I’m having a few beers with my Bond.”

      “A wise decision.  I may, too, indulge a touch, though with a few glasses of wine, if the vintage is acceptable.”

      “Then let’s get started!  Oh, we need our tickets.”

      “Already in my wallet.”

      “I’ll get the drinks and you can give our tickets to the lad over there.”

      “Actually, allow me to obtain our refreshments and present our tickets and you may wish to…”

Pointing to the loo, Mycroft smiled at Greg’s sudden realization that he’d already had a good bit of beer and just the right amount of time had passed that passing it was becoming an issue.

      “Right!  Back in a tick.”

The toddler image continued as Greg raced as fast as his legs could carry him towards the sign for the restrooms and Mycroft quickly took care of the business end of their film experience before Greg returned, looking refreshed and relieved.

      “Yeah, that’s better.  Ooh, and here we go to fill me back up again.  Thanks.  This is good!  I actually expected crap lager, but this is top end.  How expensive was it?”

      “One billion pounds.”

      “Worth every farthing.  Let’s find seats.  I hope it’s not too full already and we have to sit somewhere awful.”

      “I echo your hope.  Little is worse that a subpar viewing position for such an experience.”

Making an ‘after you’ gesture, Mycroft let Greg stroll first through the doors into the theater area though, because he was a genius, Mycroft waited a moment before following so he didn’t bump into the man he strongly suspected was frozen in place like a statue.  When he did make his cautious way forward, Mycroft found that his genius certainly had not disappointed.

      “Problem, my dear?”

      “Mycroft…”

      “I am your problem?  I am cut to the quick!  Woe is me…”

      “Mycroft…”

The female voice that shouted ‘they’re here!’ almost brought tears to Greg’s eyes, not because it was Molly, per se, but because every face he saw was someone he knew.  Members of his team, friends he’d made outside work… some he hadn’t seen a long time and his heart was warming like his skin in the sunshine to see them again.

      “It appears your friends have been enjoying themselves while they waited for us.”

Everyone with a drink in their hand and what looked like hors d'oeuvres being passed around from the main supply on a long table at the front of the theater.

      “I could not guarantee the exact time of our arrival, so specified an early beginning with the promise of unlimited food and drink.  Which shall, of course, continue through our films.  And I do believe I see quite the stack of gifts awaiting your attention, my dear.  I am ashamed to say, though, do prepare for the cake you hoped would not arrive to sully your day.  It is rather traditional, I’m afraid, and you do know how much I prize tradition.  And, as per tradition, here comes Sherlock to dampen the celebration with his soggy demeanor.”

The dark figure bearing down on their position wasn’t as intimidating as the dark figure would have hoped because his targets very much saw him as an challenging, yet adorable chick in their communal nest.

      “You are late, Lestrade.  John insisted that I attend, though I have no interest in any part of this foolish ritual, and the situation is not made better by your tardiness.”

      “Sorry about the tardiness, but your brother was busy treating me like a king and that’s something I’m going to take time and savor.  I appreciate you coming tonight, though, Sherlock, even if it’s under duress.”

      “Here.”

Greg just noticed the box in Sherlock’s hand and it was a good thing since it was thrust at him with some degree of force.

      “John has a gift for you, but it is horrible.  This is also horrible, but John took my name off what was supposed to be our joint gift when I detailed the horribleness to him.”

It wasn’t wrapped, of course, but that was fine with Greg whose face lit up brightly when he took time to look at it.

      “My Bond DVD set!  There’s all of them here, too!  Oh, this is exactly what I wanted Sherlock.  Thank you, I truly appreciate this.”

Said with a small smirk at Mycroft who pretended to be looking elsewhere, rather than mention Sherlock’s tantrum at being tossed out of John’s gift-giving boat and railing against being forced to participate in birthday nonsense when his participation was being cruelly hobbled.  The idea of presenting his own gift had mollified his brother somewhat and, added another much-desired item to his Gregory’s special day.

      “As you should.  Now, I must return with yet another pint of lager for John, for he seems to have made the decision to enter a state of gross intoxication before the opening credits of the first film.”

      “Smart man.  Off with you then, and… really, Sherlock.  This is a wonderful thing and I’m very thankful for it.”

Sherlock’s lack of answer didn’t surprise either of the older men, nor did the tiny flash of a smile that Sherlock failed to hide before he was completely turned away from their view.

      “You gave him a brilliant idea, love.”

      “Moi?”

      “Yeah, you.  You are the world’s best big brother.  And the world’s best partner, too.”

Giving Mycroft a long kiss that won them raucous applause and catcalls from their guests, Greg used a rude gesture to said guests to officially start the party and linked his arm with Mycroft to start moving through the rows of people who had cared enough about Greg to come and wish him well.  It would probably be an age before they started the films, but that was fine with the various well-wishers.  Exceptional food, free-flowing alcohol… tonight could last a _long_ time and all it would bring is larger smiles to their faces.  Of course, tomorrow’s hangovers might put a damper on things, but that was a worry for another time…

__________

      “Are you still with me, Gregory?”

      “Nope.  Died and gone to heaven.”

      “Are you certain about the location?”

      “Uh… you’re right.  Probably went straight to hell, but I’m loving every minute of it, so I don’t care.”

Mycroft escorted the wobbly Detective Inspector into their home and saw him safely to the sofa, dexterously using his own shoe-clad feet to nudge off Greg’s trainers before losing his own shoes and wiggling his toes as he relaxed next to his alcohol-laden lover.

      “Is there anything I can acquire for you, my dear?  A large glass of water, perhaps?”

      “Noooooooooo…”

      “Worried it might dilute your blissful inebriation?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Then the water can wait until just before you take to bed.”

      “Besides, you’ve given me everything I could ever want today, Mycroft.  I’m… oh, I can’t even think about today without getting misty, but I have to tell you how much it meant to me.  It all… you noticed!  And cared.  And went to loads of trouble to make me happy and it did and it was all brilliant and perfect and I just love you more than I can ever say because you’re you and that’s the best a you can be.”

Wrapping his arm around Greg’s shoulder Mycroft felt the last splinter of worry fall away and a deluge of relief and contentment flow in to take its place.  He had not failed his love, not in the slightest and that was his own gift for this night.  However, his dear Gregory did have one further of his own to unwrap and now was an excellent time to present it.

      “I am delighted to have given you a birthday you enjoyed, my dear.  But, do you have room in your satisfaction for one further tidbit?”

      “Food?”

      “No, something most different.”

Reaching behind the sofa cushion where he’d hidden the box, Mycroft drew out Greg’s final gift and handed it to the highly-curious birthday boy.

      “Another gift?  Oh, Mycroft, you shouldn’t have.”

      “Oh, I do believe I should, for I know what this day means to you.  Go ahead, Gregory, open it.  I promise it will not bite.”

Greg cut eyes at his lover, who was smirking smugly, and cracked open the box, gasping for what seemed like the hundredth time that day at what he found inside.

      “A watch!  But… no.  But… maybe?  No.  Mycroft, this can’t be my grandfather’s watch.  It was gold and certainly wasn’t this clean and sharp when I saw it last.”

      “It is the closest facsimile my watchmaker could craft from the original that your mother gladly lent me, though my death would be the penalty should a tragic fate befall the heirloom.  You have spoken often about how you admired the craftsmanship and styling of that piece, compared to what is offered today, though, I felt you would prefer a silver-toned version to complement your wardrobe and beautiful hair.  I, therefore, requested a small alteration had it crafted in something more suitable.”

      “What’s it made of?”

      “I leaned most heavily towards platinum, however, I felt… I felt you might feel somewhat uncomfortable wearing that as a day-to-day watch and an unworn watch was not the gift I hoped to present.  This is crafted from titanium, so it should wear very well with your sometimes-vigorous activity and is waterproof to any depth you could possibly encounter in London.”

      “I’m glad, I really, really am, because, yes, I would have been terrified to wear this on the job if it was gold or platinum!  And… oh this is gorgeous and just exactly what I remember from my grandfather and I want to… fuck, hold on…”

Greg fumbled to get his old watch off his wrist, forcing Mycroft to step in to remove the old watch and install the new one in its new home.

      “Yeah, this is it.  This is _it_.  I tried his watch on a hundred times and loved the feel and the look and the weight and it all was wonderful, but this is more wonderful because it’s still his, but in my way, for _me_ , and it ticks all the possible boxes and… oh, I’m drunk and happy and have the most perfect watch and I can wear it every day and see it and oh…”

Greg ran out of fuel and sat there staring at his watch with such an awestruck and unbelieving expression that Mycroft simply let his partner soak in his gift and took the moment to smooth Greg’s somewhat unruly locks and turn the smoothing into a soft stroking of his hair, then cheek.

      “This is beyond my imagination, Mycroft.  Really… I just don’t know what to say.  About any of it!  It was all so fantastic…”

      “I am extremely glad for it, Gregory.  There… there was a tremendous worry in me that I could not provide you a birthday worthy of you and the love you inspire in me.  I simply had neither the insights nor the instincts to properly craft an experience that would appeal to a man as vigorous, whimsical or valorous as you.  I have no doubt you were highly aware of my foundering and I am sorry for the inevitable concern you had that today would be a poor one for you.”

      “I… alright, I do admit that I had a bad turn there for a bit that today wouldn’t excite me very much, but I got some good, solid advice and perspective from… someone… and that helped.  It helped a _lot_ , because I started to see the picture through your eyes and things began to make sense.”

      “Is that when you became more proactive in providing discrete and pointed hints as to your wants?”

      “You noticed that, huh?”

      “I did and it _was_ extremely helpful.  As was the advice that _I_ obtained that provided me concrete strategies to approach my difficulties with something other than dismay.  With sufficient guidance and your highly-welcome assistance, I generated a list of ideas that I may have seen vetted by an objective party…”

Not that Anthea was properly considered ‘objective’ for anything involving his personal life, for she was a hopeless romantic and interminable busybody, however, her experience with gift-giving was more robust than his and conferred some measure of expertise in the matter.

      “… to ensure you would find them acceptable.”

      “You… you went to all that trouble for me?  Plus the _extra_ trouble you went through for me?”

His Gregory looked so close to weeping that Mycroft had no idea whether kissing him or handing him a handkerchief was the better response.  Deciding the kiss would not require laundering, that option jumped to the top of his list and it was a slow, gentle one Greg received, that said, far better than words how desperately Mycroft loved his weepy, boozy partner.

__

      “There is nothing I would not do for you, Gregory.  No lengths to which I would not go.  I simply… do not know what _are_ those lengths are, at times.  Will you help me with that?”

__

      “I will!  I will… if you’ll help _me_ know when you need that help?  That’s the part I’m pretty balls at and, yeah, I could use some help so we’re not both balls, because that’s a lot, you know?  Of balls, I mean.”

__

With the jubilance and alcohol of the evening now fully saturating his Gregory’s tissues, Mycroft decided it was time to draw the evening to a close and see them both to bed.  But, he would and did allow himself a moment to savor the sensation of knowing he, fully and completely, met his challenge successfully.  Not every year could he devote the time and effort to such a thing, for the demands of work were something neither of them could ever fully avoid, but _some_ years he could and it would be his privilege and honor to do his utmost to show his Gregory, on the one day devoted solely to him, that he was the center of Mycroft Holmes’s world and would remain in that spot until the end of their days.

__

      “Then we have an accord.  Now, I believe it would benefit us both to take to bed and enjoy a long and blissful sleep.”

__

      “Sex first?”

__

      “Have you the necessary energy for that, my dearest?”

__

      “Energy schmenergy.”

__

      “I… I have no idea how to respond.”

__

      “Kiss?”

__

      “Ah, the ever-popular default response.”

__

      “It’s ever-popular for a reason.  Like the Law of Gravity.”

__

      “There is no Law of Gravity, Gregory.”

__

      “Kiss?”

__

      “The ever-popular strikes again!”

__

      “That’s because it’s amazing.”

__

      “Is it… amazinger… if I bestow two kisses?”

__

      “I’m… I’m so proud of you right now.  That’s such a good word you made up.”

__

      “Kiss?”

__

      “A kajillion of them!”

__

Oh which, the first would begin now and the remainder would be given, at will, throughout their future together.  Not that any man would be keeping count, of course.  Who had time for that when you had a kajillion, amazinger kisses to enjoy and the man of your dreams to enjoy them with…

__


End file.
